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May 21, 2010

Presented by Guest Blogger Goddess Karen

Time has been kind to me as I find myself in my later 30’s. My skin is smooth, my forehead unwrinkled, my body in the best shape of my life. Admittedly it sucks getting older, but I’ve discovered one road that makes the inexorable march of time a bit more tolerable.

I’ve become a cougar.

For those of you not familiar with the term, it’s loosely defined all over the web but the gist is this: a cougar is a woman in her 30’s and older who date men 8 or more years their junior. They are financially self-sustaining, often divorced, and have no interest in playing with older men the world has to offer. This can be for a number of reasons but consensus seems to be, who wants to sit around & listen to some 50 year old guy talk about his ex-wife, children, business matters, golf, Viagra, etc? Various websites paint various pictures of cougars—from sluts to renaissance women—but when during the history of females has it been any different? Ask Mary Magdalene.

So enters this phenomenon into my life. After the first time my current boyfriend & I had sex he chuckled from the downy pillow beside me. “You’re a cougar,” he said. Was I? I fit the criteria seeing as how he’s 9 years younger than me but at first I was freaked out. Was he calling me old? Deviant? Was this a brand I was saddled with in some negative light?

He kindly helped educate me about it. No, I wasn’t old, just older than him (obviously no argument there). I was more sexually worldly. I was womanly, not girly. I turn heads, take names & kick ass (again, no argument). Venturing outside my 3-4-year-bracket either way was new, but by no means deviant. This helped ease my transition into cougardom. After all, bringing my experience to—believe me—nearly a babe in the woods was an act of wonder & delight. For both of us.

And I do bite, I do scratch, which he relishes. I don’t cringe from his craven requests as a young bimbo might. He returns the favor by trying every sexual whim I desire, especially those that even in the breadth of my experience I was never able to find. The joy of his discovery is my joy to reap. Needless to say the energy he brings to the bedroom is considerable. No wonder Demi Moore had to have all that plastic surgery to keep up with Ashton Kutcher. Girlfriend needed a tight new tummy & some gymnast thighs to match pace.

There are worse things in life than being called a cougar. Now I wear it with a bemused kind of pride. After all, there’s no going back so what else can a thirtysomething domina do than make peace with such an apt title? Teaching a beautiful Sidney Crosby doppelganger the difference between a camisole & a chemise is my pleasure. Allow me to try it on.

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